Landscape in the arts

Saturday, January 02, 2016

The Wind in the Willows

I have just finished reading aloud to my son The Wind in the Willows. It was an unabridged edition, so we have been enjoying those chapters that are sometimes cut: 'Dulce Domum' on Mole's desire to see his old home, 'The Piper at the Gates of Dawn', where they encounter the god Pan, and 'Wayfarers All', on the conflicting impulse to travel and to stay at home. It was a pleasure to read the story without engaging too critically with the book's nostalgic conservatism, or puzzling over how these talking animals coexist with human car drivers and washer women. I thought I would quote something from it here, but rather than choose a lyrical description of the river or the changing seasons I've picked an intriguing passage that I'd forgotten all about, concerning Badger's large underground home. Here, in Grahame's pastoral dream of England, the idea of the city has been literally buried: civilisations decline but nature endures.

Mole has just recovered from his adventure in the snowy Wild Wood and now, after finishing one of the book's many fine luncheons, he is shown around by Badger...

'Crossing the
hall, they passed down one of the principal
tunnels, and the wavering light of the lantern
gave glimpses on either side of rooms both
large and small, some mere cupboards, others
nearly as broad and imposing as Toad's dining-hall.
A narrow passage at right angles led them
into another corridor, and here the same thing
was repeated. The Mole was staggered at the
size, the extent, the ramifications of it all; at
the length of the dim passages, the solid vaultings
of the crammed store-chambers, the masonry
everywhere, the pillars, the arches, the pavements.
"How on earth, Badger," he said at
last, "did you ever find time and strength to do
all this? It's astonishing!"

"It would be astonishing indeed," said the
Badger simply, "if I had done it. But as a
matter of fact I did none of it—only cleaned
out the passages and chambers, as far as I had
need of them. There's lots more of it, all round
about. I see you don't understand, and I must
explain it to you. Well, very long ago, on the
spot where the Wild Wood waves now, before
ever it had planted itself and grown up to what
it now is, there was a city—a city of people,
you know. Here, where we are standing, they
lived, and walked, and talked, and slept, and
carried on their business. Here they stabled
their horses and feasted, from here they rode
out to fight or drove out to trade. They were a
powerful people, and rich, and great builders.
They built to last, for they thought their city
would last for ever."

"But what has become of them all?" asked
the Mole.

"Who can tell?" said the Badger. "People
come—they stay for a while, they flourish, they
build—and they go. It is their way. But we
remain. There were badgers here, I've been
told, long before that same city ever came to
be. And now there are badgers here again.
We are an enduring lot, and we may move out
for a time, but we wait, and are patient, and
back we come. And so it will ever be."

"Well, and when they went at last, those
people?" said the Mole.

"When they went," continued the Badger,
"the strong winds and persistent rains took the
matter in hand, patiently, ceaselessly, year after
year. Perhaps we badgers too, in our small
way, helped a little—who knows? It was all
down, down, down, gradually—ruin and levelling
and disappearance. Then it was all up, up,
up, gradually, as seeds grew to saplings, and
saplings to forest trees, and bramble and fern
came creeping in to help. Leaf-mould rose and
obliterated, streams in their winter freshets
brought sand and soil to clog and to cover, and
in course of time our home was ready for us
again, and we moved in. Up above us, on the
surface, the same thing happened. Animals
arrived, liked the look of the place, took up
their quarters, settled down, spread, and flourished.
They didn't bother themselves about
the past—they never do; they're too busy.
The place was a bit humpy and hillocky, naturally,
and full of holes; but that was rather an
advantage. And they don't bother about the
future, either—the future when perhaps the
people will move in again—for a time—as
may very well be..."'

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This blog explores landscape through the arts: painting, installation, photography, literature, music, film... I've also on occasion covered the creation or alteration of landscapes by architects, artists and garden designers. For the first year I did several short entries each week; since then I have reduced the frequency and some posts are a bit longer. In naming this site 'Some Landscapes' initially I just saw it as a few modest notes and didn't know if I'd keep it up. Of course it will always only cover 'some' landscapes, even though I occasionally like to think of it as an expanding cultural gazetteer. There is a pretty long index (see above) listing the artists of all kinds that have been mentioned here. There are also maps and a chronology of posts. I started writing this blog using the name 'Plinius' (a little tribute to the younger and older Plinys) and am now rather attached to it as a 'nom de blog'. Comments are very welcome but are moderated to prevent spam. Plinus / Andrew Ray.